


A Little Slack

by taylor_tut



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Everyone Has Issues, Fever, Gen, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Protective Team, Sick Character, Sick Lance (Voltron), Sickfic, keith is TRYING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: The stress of leading can sometimes distract Keith from what's important. Lance helps him remember--though not in the most convenient way.





	A Little Slack

"

Lance, you need to focus!” Keith barked as he missed yet another target. “You’re our sharpshooter!” 

Woah, four syllables. That was a lot to process right now. 

 Lance had woken up with the worst headache he’d ever experienced, accompanied by the tell-tale chills and body aches of illness. He’d taken one look in the mirror and felt aghast at the sight of his pale face and red flush, but had hurried out of his bedroom and toward the training deck. 

Honestly, he’d hoped that someone would notice his obvious signs of illness before he had to say anything, but that wasn’t the case, and instead he’d been punished for not paying attention to Allura’s daily lecture by having to train extra. 

“Keith,” Lance breathed, “I don’t feel good.” His hands were on his knees and he was panting, nearly gasping for air. Keith was barely sympathetic. 

“Take five, drink some water, then come back and finish your set.” 

Lance wanted to argue, but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t move to get water, so with an irritated huff, Keith shoved a pouch toward him. He was only so upset because Shiro was gone, Lance knew, and because he hadn’t been sleeping well. On a normal day, Keith might have rolled his eyes a bit at Lance’s complaints, but ultimately would have checked him over. Knowing that didn’t take the sting out of being written off as dramatic. 

 “Take the water,” Keith prompted when Lance simply stared blankly at it, “you’re probably dehydrated.” Lance nodded and took a sip. 

Dehydrated. That made sense. Dehydration could explain his pounding headache and fatigue. 

To his credit, Keith was liberal about the “five” minute break. He didn’t watch the clock, only Lance’s water intake, and began the training sequence anew only after Lance had finished two pouches. 

 When Lance stood to face the bot once more, everything whirled around him. He reached out blindly for something to steady himself, finding Keith’s body, and blinked away black dots. 

 “Woah, hey,” Keith fumbled, easing Lance back into a chair, “careful.” 

“Sorry, m’ready in a sec,” he breathed. 

 “How about we let Hunk take his turn, and we’ll see how you feel after that.” He reached into the cooler and took out a ration bar. “Eat something.” 

“Yeah, you barely touched breakfast,” Pidge interjected. 

 “I’m not hungry,” Lance maintained, “I just don’t feel good.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s because you haven’t eaten anything all day.” 

 Lance wasn’t convinced, but he took the food anyway–maybe Keith was right. It didn’t feel like the right answer, but Keith was a bit more clear-headed at this moment, and so if he thought that eating would help, maybe it might. He managed to choke down half of it before Hunk had bested the bot. 

Keith’s eyes snapped to Lance, who stood slowly and wobbled to the center of the ring. He was hit once, twice, three times–and then he was out. Keith threw his arms up in the air. 

“Fine, Lance. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then you can just leave.” 

The only words Lance could latch onto were “you can leave,” so he left. He’d been so cold all day, but now he felt boiling hot, and he really wanted a shower--he was pretty sure he was sweating.

“Is he okay?” Pidge asked, but again, Keith just rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. He’s just being a drama queen.”

* * *

Lance had to steady himself all the way back to the showers, and once he got there, his brain was so foggy that he didn’t even want to take off his armor. Instead, he just turned on the cold water and stood beneath it for a few seconds until his vision greyed and twisted, sending him toppling to the floor. 

* * *

“Look, I know Lance can be a little extra sometimes,” Pidge insisted, cut off by Keith’s “a  _little?”_ which she glared in response to, “but he’s never let it get in the way of training before. Aren’t you even a little concerned?”

Hunk frowned. “He looked pale, and he hasn’t been himself all morning.” That was true, Keith realized. Usually, when Lance wanted attention, he would outright ask for it--gaming with Pidge, cooking with Hunk, sparring with Keith. This was out of character.

“He’s probably homesick,” Pidge sympathized. “I’m going to go check on him. I understand how he feels.” 

Pidge disappeared down the hallway leaving Hunk and Keith in an uncomfortable silence until it was interrupted by her scream. They took off running.

“Pidge, are you okay?” Keith asked frantically, then gasped. “Oh my God--Lance.”

Lance was soaking wet and unconscious. 

“He must’ve passed out in the shower,” Pidge said, “I found him like this. The water was freezing.”

“Why was he showering in his armor?” Hunk asked, but when he crouched to begin removing the soaking wet paladin suit, he froze when he felt the heat trapped under it. “He’s got a fever,” he breathed, “a really high one.”

“You think he’s got an infected wound somewhere?” Pidge asked, probing him gently. “He didn’t even mention it...”

“He’s sick,” Keith realized aloud, the shame turning his tone a muted plum color. “He’s been sick all day.” 

“You  _knew_?” Hunk accused. “You let him--you  _made_  him train with a fever like this?” 

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Keith defended lamely. “I just--I thought--”

“I don’t care what you  _thought;_  you were wrong,” Pidge bit. “And you didn’t check on him. Just--do something right for him today and go get Allura and Coran.”

Keith’s pretty sure he’s never run so fast in his life. 

“Turn on the water lukewarm,” Pidge told Hunk in a much gentler tone. “This fever is--I’m afraid his brain cells are just gonna start popping like popcorn.” Hunk fiddled with the dials until the water was room temperature, and Lance came to shivering.

“Turnit off,” Lance slurred, batting weakly. “ _Cold.”_

“You need to cool down,” Hunk explained, “you’re really burning. How long have you felt this bad?” 

Lance took too long to answer. “Woke up bad,” he said. “Training made it worse.”

“I’ll bet it did,” Pidge agreed, tugging him marginally closer. 

“Turn that off,” Lance requested blearily again. “Cold.”

“I know, mi precioso,” Hunk cooed. 

“Two minutes,” Pidge promised. “Can you do two minutes?”

“No,” Lance moaned.

“Please. For me? Just two? Two little minutes?” she pleaded. 

He whined, but finally nodded. Pidge felt a twinge of guilt and sadness--Lance had messed himself up so much because Keith had told him to, and now he’d endure what felt like an icy shower just because she asked. 

“The med bay is prepared,” Allura’s voice announced from the door, Keith following close behind her. “Coran is standing by. Hunk, will you carry him?” Everything about her tone suggested that Keith had told her there was no time to waste. 

* * *

Keith was waiting vigil by Lance’s bedside when he woke up. 

“Keith...?” he rasped, reaching for the water pouch that Hunk had placed beside his bed. 

“Lance, you’re awake!” he exclaimed.

“Don’t remember going to sleep,” Lance frowned. “M’I in trouble?”

“No, Lance; no,” Keith very near cried, “I--this is on me. Do you remember what happened?”

Lance shook his head.

“You were sick, and I made you train anyway. You ended up passing out--oh, quiznak. Hang on.” He reached for a digital thermometer and shoved it in Lance’s mouth. He recoiled from the shock of being jabbed under the tongue. “Sorry.”

“S’okay--”

“No talking.” Seconds later, the device beeped, and Keith winced. “103.2,” he read aloud. “At least it’s down from earlier.” 

Lance’s eyes widened. “I was that sick?”

Keith stared at the ground. “At least you were after I...” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, tears of guilt welling in his eyes. “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Lance, to Keith’s surprise, squeezed his hand. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” he smiled weakly. “I know you’re trying.”

“Shiro would never have let this happen,” he said in a quivering voice.

“No,” Lance admitted, “but... well, you’re never gonna let it happen again, right?” 

Keith looked sharply and fiercely at Lance’s eyes. “Never. I promise.”

“Then that’s something,” he shrugged. “We’re all just doing our best. None of us asked for this. Just... we’ve all got to cut each other a little slack.” It was a subtle jab, Keith knew, one he deserved. 

“Everyone’s got the rest of the day off,” Keith said. “And every Friday from here on out. We need breaks. And next time someone’s feeling off, they’re going straight to the med bay, no questions asked.”

“See?” Lance patted Keith’s tightly-coiled fists, then uncurled his fingers to stop the nails from digging into his palms. “That’s a start.” 

Keith nodded. 

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Lance declared, “I feel like garbage. You should get some rest, too. You  _look_  like garbage.”

Keith chuckled. “Not til that fever is below 102,” he said. “You sleep. Think cold thoughts.”

Lance smiled and let himself drift to sleep, thinking about snow and ice cream.


End file.
